


Coup of the Dragon King

by MrGreekzies



Series: World's End [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Bisexual Male Character, Crime Fighting, Gen, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Mythology - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 13:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13927737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrGreekzies/pseuds/MrGreekzies
Summary: One down -- but six to go. Over the course of just a few months, Ethan Locke's life has transformed from utterly ordinary to fantastically extraordinary. As he continues across the world in his search for the seven rings, accompanied by his godly companions Malina and Andrew, Ethan will face challenges like never before, as his journey takes him from the lush green fields of Scandinavia, to the bustling cities of the eastern civilization, all the way to the icy wastelands of the frozen North.Who is friend? Who is foe? The lines of trust get blurred as the war rages on, and the great chaos snake Tiamat churns ever more fitfully in her prison beneath the earth...will our heroes prevail? And what is that shadow Ethan keeps seeing out of the corner of his eye?





	Coup of the Dragon King

The Chernobyl power plant was, of course, long abandoned. In April of 1986, the power plant, about a hundred kilometers north of Kiev, Ukraine, suffered from a catastrophic nuclear meltdown, irradiating the land around it and tainting the country for years to come. 

It was a masterpiece of peak humanity. Not only was the meltdown caused by human error during a safety test, in which all safety and backup systems were deliberately shut down, but the thirty-kilometer “exclusion zone” which surrounded the area, despite being declared unsafe due to the high radiation levels, was still home to upwards of three hundred Ukrainians who had simply refused to leave. 

The entire area was a monument to human disaster, recklessness, and chaos. It made sense, then, that Abaddon was to meet with the hag there.

Abaddon had never liked her much. She was a shriveled old sociopath whose feverish worship of the ground Tiamat slithered on made Satanic cultists look tame in comparison. But, since the hag was a creature of chaos herself, Tiamat had always favored her. Perhaps that’s why she was the second general, and therefore outranked Abaddon—a fact which had never pleased him.

Abaddon’s portal opened up in one of the control rooms. He stepped out to a burnt husk of a room—computers all along desks that wrapped around the room were melted down to their cores, and ash from the graphite fires caused by the meltdown littered the floor. Abaddon sank down to his shins in it.

He glanced up through the massive hole in the ceiling, where the sun shone down on him as if nothing were wrong. The area was eerily quiet; either birds and other animals had not yet repopulated the exclusion zone, or they had all been scared away by the hag’s presence. Abaddon didn’t know much about the habits of animals, admittedly, so it could have been a combination of the two, although he strongly suspected that the latter reason played a bigger part.

As he waded through the ashes, he mentally steeled himself to face the hag. He’d never liked her, of course, and she’d always returned the favor. Their mutual dislike of each other had always caused dissension in the ranks of the chaos army, even back in the old days. _She must have been quite happy to run it all on her own without me,_ Abaddon thought.

The hag had never been captured, much to Abaddon's chagrin. She'd had the luxury of roaming free for all these centuries, while Abaddon had only recently been freed from his cell beneath Tartarus. He'd been imprisoned there thanks to the chaos army's surrender following Tiamat's defeat at the hands of Ciel. The third general had been captured by Hecate’s forces before the first Chaos War had even ended.

Abaddon didn’t like thinking about him much; names had power, especially his. Gods usually had the luxury of throwing names around like they were nothing. Demons, less so. The more Abaddon thought about the third general, the more he was opening his thoughts for that general to read. And that was the last thing he wanted. His thoughts were his own, and he had to be careful about who else read them—especially these days.

But, with no one but the hag on the surface, Tiamat had enlisted her to keep things running in preparation for Tiamat's eventual comeback. And now, it seemed, the hag was finally pulling things together.

Abaddon stepped into the hall, where the ground was less ashy but just as unstable. A metal grate walkway led down the hall, and into a set of stairs which led into the ruins of one of the reactors. Abaddon had to be careful where he stepped, because although he would easily be able to fly away by summoning his wings, he didn’t much feel like having to do that. Every time he summoned his wings, they tore through his Hell’s Angel’s jacket, and he hated having to sew it back together. It was so tedious, and Abaddon wasn’t even that good at sewing.

So, he took his time. The hag could wait a little longer, couldn’t she? Abaddon felt out every step before he put his weight down. However, any joy he might’ve derived from forcing the hag to wait a little longer was slightly overshadowed by the fact that his slow and deliberate gait sent pain shooting up his leg every time he set his right foot down.

The little shit Ethan Locke had caused him quite a bit of trouble back in Giza. Abaddon resented him heavily for it. Somehow, Ethan Locke had not only escaped from under Set’s watch (not that the desert god had been paying attention to anything other than Malina at the time), but had also managed to join with a god. He’d then used that power to not only banish Set’s soul into the Duat for what was likely years to come, but he’d also closed up Abaddon’s escape portal just as he’d been stepping through it, severing his right leg at the shin. And then the boy had had the audacity to send Abaddon careening back to Hell right afterwards.

Contrary to popular belief, Hell was not a fun place. Demons didn’t like it there any more than mortal souls did. But maybe, one day, it could be better. Maybe…

Abaddon scowled as pain shot up his leg again. The fix-up job he’d been forced to give himself was shoddy at best, and threatened to fall apart any moment. Hell didn’t really have much in the way of healing magic, or really any magic at all aside from the occasional telekinetic demon (of which Abaddon was one). So, Abaddon had been forced to fashion a tube of metal into a vaguely foot-like shape, and screw it into his own leg so it would stick. It was painful, and it was rushed, but for the time being, it worked. Hopefully, Abaddon could find a more permanent replacement later.

If only Ethan Locke hadn’t been so rash in attacking him. Granted, Abaddon hadn’t had a ton of opportunity to explain himself, what with Set being right there. But, Abaddon dared to think, maybe the boy already knew. After all, he had spared Abaddon’s life, choosing to only send him back to Hell rather than incinerate him. 

Abaddon was grateful to still have his life. There was still work to be done, and being alive significantly increased his chances of getting it done. Ethan Locke had probably thought being sent to Hell was a sufficient punishment, anyway. Had he expected Abaddon to stay down there for years? Pfft. Getting out of Hell was easy, as long as you were a high-ranking demon who knew all the hidden exits. 

Trudging forward, Abaddon finally reached the stairwell, which was probably the least structurally sound of the entire building. He put his good leg down onto it, and the whole thing shuddered and rattled like it was going to fall. It probably was. He would never get his whole weight onto it, and the distance from the walkway to the floor was too far to jump—especially with the piece of metal screwed into his leg.

Abaddon sighed. He would have to bust out his wings again. Tragic.

Summoning his wings was easy. Growing them out of his back was like flexing a muscle; a thought, a motion, and they were there. 

They burst forth from his back, and a wracking but familiar pain shot through his body. Summoning his wings always hurt; it hurt for every demon that had them. But if you did it enough, you could numb yourself to it. Abaddon still registered the pain, he just didn’t care about it. The only thing he cared about was the fact that his jacket was now ruined yet again. He would probably take it to some mortal sewing shop this time. Screw doing it himself. If there was one thing mortals did well, it was sewing up clothes.

Leaping off of the walkway, Abaddon soared down to the ground, the brittle air gliding easily beneath his wings. He landed with ease amidst the melted-down reactor, where the hag had said she would be waiting for him. And, of course, she wasn’t there.

Abaddon sighed. Although he knew why she’d wanted to meet him here, that didn’t mean he liked her choice of locale. Gods and supernatural beings couldn’t be affected by radiation poisoning in the same way mortals would, but they would get sick for quite some time if they were around it for too long. Already Abaddon was feeling queasy. 

“You’re late,” came a sudden and sharp voice from off to his right.

Abaddon jumped, startled. “You didn’t set a time,” he responded. “How am I late if you never told me when to meet?”

“I said Chernobyl at sunrise. It’s afternoon.”

“No, you just said Chernobyl,” Abaddon lied. “Nothing at all about a specific time.”

The voice growled. “Don’t play games with me.”

Abaddon grinned. “You started it.”

For a few moments—silence. Then: “Fine. I concede. This argument is pointless, anyhow.”

Abaddon sat down on a piece of melted reactor and faced the darkness where the hag’s voice was coming from. “Still don’t like showing your face, huh?”

“Silence,” hissed the hag. “Do not mock me, Abaddon. I would be perfectly willing to show you my face as I rip your eyes from your head.”

“Fine. I concede,” Abaddon repeated. He shifted on his seat, and pain shot up his thigh. He winced, and unfortunately, the hag noticed.

“I see that the boy has done quite a number on you,” the hag rasped. Her words were accompanied by a strange, gravelly whining sound. Abaddon realized she was laughing at him, and he adjusted his makeshift leg indignantly. 

“In my defense, he’s stronger than we expected,” Abaddon said. “And he was joined with a goddess at the time. You wouldn’t have stood a chance either.”

The hag only hummed in response. At first, Abaddon was confused by her silence, but then he felt it—the mental probe slowly seeping into his head. That made Abaddon angry; she was trying to access his memories to verify his story. But there was a definite chance she would go snooping around for other things, too. And Abaddon couldn’t have that.

So, he threw up a mental wall, and he felt her stop short. Her irritation was palpable, and she spoke up, “Something to hide, Abaddon?”

Abaddon smirked. “You should be able to trust that I’m telling you the truth without digging around in my memories,” he said smoothly. “And besides—we all have our secrets, don’t we?” 

“Hmm,” the hag mused. “I suppose we do.” Abaddon could practically feel the suspicion dripping from her tone.

"Maybe ask next time,” he suggested. “After all, consent is key, isn’t it?”

It took a few moments, but finally, she backed off, and Abaddon felt her presence leave his mind. “There,” he said. “That’s better, isn’t it? Can we get down to business now?”

“Very well,” said the hag. “Do you know why I summoned you here, Abaddon?”

Abaddon rolled his eyes. “No, but I have a few ideas.”

“We’ve discovered the whereabouts of the boy and his guard detail,” said the hag. “My spies have found them in the mortal city of Venice, but they don’t appear to be staying for long. We believe they will be setting out for the second ring soon.”

“And you want me to intercept them?” Abaddon asked.

“No,” hissed the hag. “Don’t interrupt me. We already have someone taking care of that.”

Abaddon arched an eyebrow. “Then what do you need from me?”

“You have ways of manipulating the Duat, correct?” asked the hag. “Particularly portals that pass through it?”

Grinning, Abaddon took a mock, seated bow. “It’s one of my many specialties.”

“Our mistress requests that, when the time comes, you prevent them from doing so,” said the hag. “She wishes to keep the boy in one place for a time, so she may…speak to him.”

Abaddon put on his best poker face. “Fine. That’s easy enough. But how will I know when the time comes?”

“I will alert you,” said the hag. “You needn’t worry about much, Abaddon. Simply do as I ask, when I ask, and our mistress will reward you tenfold.”

“Tenfold of nothing is still nothing,” Abaddon muttered, knowing full well the hag would hear, but unable to stop himself.

Her anger flared. “Do you think yourself above the mistress, demon? Do you not feel grateful for everything she has done for us?”

“I’m not sure what she’s done for you yet, but all Tiamat has done for me so far is make promises,” Abaddon said. “I haven’t actually received anything.”

“Then perhaps you would—” the hag began, but Abaddon cut her off.

“I’m not trying to seem ungrateful,” he said. “All I’m asking for, really, is something tangible. It doesn’t have to be big. Just a little show of good faith, so I know all these promises she’s making aren’t empty.” 

The hag was silent after that for a long time. Abaddon listened, confused, and realized that she wasn’t silent—she was softly speaking, in a tongue he didn’t recognize. It wasn’t until the hag spoke again when Abaddon realized that she’d be communicating directly with Tiamat, which suddenly made Abaddon very uncomfortable. He mentally steeled the wall in his mind, just in case.

“The mistress presumes you bold for making a request such as this after failing to retrieve the ruby ring,” the hag snarled.

Abaddon had to take a few moments to compose a good response. “I would like to remind Tiamat that she may rise from her prison with or without the rings; the rings only speed the process along. Ethan Locke, however, needs the rings to defeat her. All we need is one in order to stop them. Six more are still out there. The odds are in our favor.”

The hag began speaking in the low, otherworldly language again. After a few moments, she spoke: “The mistress finds your request to be not unreasonable,” she said, “but would also advise you to honor your words, and not let her down.”

Abaddon held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“She will grant you a physical token of her faith in you, Abaddon,” said the hag. “And, because she is so powerful and gracious, the mistress will also allow you to choose your own gift—within reason, of course.”

Abaddon’s poker face snapped back into view—though it was hard to contain his excitement. He’d been hoping their conversation would eventually reach this point (it was largely the only reason he’d even agreed to this meeting), but had thought it would take far longer. “I would be happy to make a simple request,” he said, “since, of course, I don’t require much from Tiamat to know her true intentions.”

“You shouldn’t require anything at all,” muttered the hag. “Faith should be enough.”

“I’m a demon,” Abaddon drawled. “Faith isn’t really our thing. Are you finished interrupting me?”

The hag snarled loudly, and for a brief moment, Abaddon saw her face pierce the shadows surrounding her—and that was enough to scare him straight. “Watch your tongue around me, insolent demon! I am not one to be trifled with.”

“Of course,” Abaddon backpedaled, trying to keep his composure as he stood up. “My apologies. I’ll cut to the chase. All I require from Tiamat is a friar’s lantern. Like I said—a simple request,” he finished with a slight bow.

“A friar’s lantern?” asked the hag. “What business do you have in the Forest of the Dead, demon?”

Abaddon smirked. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—we all have our secrets.” He could tell she wasn’t satisfied, so he added on, before she could say anything: “But I can guarantee you, it’s really gonna help us win this war.”

“Then why can you not speak of it?”

“Oh, it’s all very hush-hush for now,” Abaddon said. “Don’t want to jinx it, you know? Plus, I’m still working out a few kinks. But I promise you—you’ll really be blown away.”

“Very well,” the hag snapped. “A simple request, indeed; you may have what you ask for, but only once you complete the task that the mistress has set out for you. Understood?”

Abaddon nodded. “Loud and clear.”

“Good,” said the hag. “Then our time here is finished. Do not fail me, Abaddon. For if you fail me, you fail the mistress. And if you fail the mistress…the consequences shall be quite dire indeed.”

Abaddon ignored the obvious delight in her tone. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The hag chuckled. “I’m sure.” 

She fell silent, and for a few moments, Abaddon wasn’t sure if she’d left or not. He decided to risk stepping forward. When he got close enough to where her voice had been coming from, he noticed that the darkness seemed a little brighter. She was gone, then. For better or for worse, she was gone. 

Abaddon let out a long sigh. He hadn’t liked her tone on that final “I’m sure.” It had seemed a little too…knowing. And there were things the hag couldn’t know; not yet. Abaddon still had work had to do.

But at the moment, things seemed good. All he had to do was stop Ethan Locke and his friends from portaling at a certain time, and he would get what he wanted. It seemed simple. Abaddon just hoped it would be that simple. He couldn’t risk anything going wrong, not until he had the friar’s lantern in his hands. Then—the real fun would begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand here we are, folks! Book 2 is finally here and in the works. We'll be getting to our heroes in just a moment, but first, a quick chapter to maybe peak your intrigue a little bit. Who's the hag? What secrets does Abaddon have to hide? Will our heroes be successful in obtaining the second ring? What will happen to them along the way? 
> 
> It's all very exciting to get to writing the second installment in this saga -- I hope y'all are as excited as I am! Unfortunately, though, I can't promise a regular updating schedule, because I'm just too busy a person. But rest assured, I'll update whenever I can! Hopefully this one won't take two years to finish like the last one...yikes...
> 
> But anyway! Strap in, because it's only gonna get worse from here ;)
> 
> No new pronunciations this time, so the title song is "Secret Meetings" by The National. Until next time!


End file.
